


The Sharp and Glorious Thorn

by QuillsAndInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, DCRB 2020, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Fluff, M/M, Sweet, Wing Grooming, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillsAndInk/pseuds/QuillsAndInk
Summary: When Dean pricks his finger cleaning out the bunker, he lands himself in a feather situation that only Cas can help with.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 256
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to my artist and friend LeafZelindor! Her art was amazing and inspiring and this bad boy is for her.
> 
> Link to her art masterpost....go check this gal out! https://leafzelindor.tumblr.com/post/613025386102669312/

Dean  _ hated  _ cleaning out the bunker. He couldn’t believe they’d been here nearly seven years and there were  _ still  _ storage rooms filled with jars of things, and spell books, and enough cursed objects to be any witch’s wet dream. Maybe that’s why they were there. Sam was sort of a witch now, under Rowena’s tutildege. Dean shook his head. He knew why they were there. They needed to clean out the bunker. The damn place was still basically unlivable in areas and there was always work to be done in the storage areas. Didn’t matter. Dean still grumbled as he carefully picked through the shit surrounding him. 

It was some vile stuff. Boxes that were unopenable due to curses that Dean wanted zero part of. Random and innocent-seeming odds and ends that Dean knew to be suspicious of. Eileen, who was helping him and Sam did not, and accidentally got both her and Sam tethered at the hip with some invisible rope. After a break from cleaning to do some research, (Dean grumbled to himself just  _ thinking  _ about it), they discovered that the spell would easily wear off in about a day. 

Poor bastards, Dean thought sarcastically as he watched them giggle and accidentally bump hip to thigh as they painstakingly catalogued each and every stupid thing in this part of the bunker. Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes at the two lovebirds, but secretly how was happy for them. He wanted Sammy to have his happily ever after, and if that could be found in the deaf powerhouse that was a Eileen, more power to him. But still, they were over there being cute and Dean was wiping the dust off a jar that seemed to contain a baby’s shrunken head. Dean had seen a lot as a hunter, and plenty of harmed children but this one still made his gorge rise. He quickly put the jar back where he found it. 

Dean picked up another jar, this one seeming to contain pickled worms or something equally gross, and his thoughts wandered to Cas. They’d made up in Purgatory. But now Dean wasn’t sure where they stood. Cas hadn’t let him finish. He had so much to say.  _ So much _ . He loved Cas, and wished he was better and he just wanted the angel to hold him and be around for good. Cas was family and Dean for one was tired of not having Cas here at all time. Dean aggressively set the jar of worms down. Cas was away again, and Dean just wished he’d come home so Dean could tell him what he felt. All of it. For real this time.

Dean recklessly reached behind the jars he was supposed to be counting to probe for something new, when something jabbed his finger hard enough to draw blood. Dean recoiled and found a pure white, beautiful feather dangling from his index finger. Dean jerked it out and the feather fluttered gracefully to the floor, and blood began to drop from the little hole the quill had drilled into his finger. 

Then, the pain began. 

Dean was no stranger to all kinds of injuries. From paper cuts to broken bones, Dean was a Winchester through and through. He knew how to suffer and at the very least be quiet about it. But this was on a whole new  _ level _ . The pain began as a little heat from his blood rushing to a raw wound, but it escalated quickly and raced up his arm, over his shoulder and to his back, quick as lightning. The heat began to turn into a sting, then a sear, then a proper burn and then it rankled up past a hundred. The burn intensified and intensified until Dean was sure that a dying sun had forced itself into his via his finger. Dean swore his flesh was melting off and finally, he let out a groan of real pain. 

“Dean?” Sam hurried over, tugging Eileen along on their invisible leash. “What’s wrong?”

“Hurts,” was all Dean was to choke out.

“Hey hey hey hey,” Sam gentled. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Dean moaned again. He was so beyond words. He was being incinerated. The pain reached a vertex in his upper back and Dean could do little else but claw at his own shoulder. Suddenly, the pain peaked, Dean’s shirt tore away, and Dean was receiving signals from two new limbs he’d never had before. The burning ebbed but the dizzying feeling on his back only worsened. Dean gulped for air.

“Sammy,” Dean said weakly. Sam’s large hand came to pat Dean’s neck and cheek. 

“I’m here, Dean,” he said. Dean looked up for beer he had been doubled over. The vertigo intensified.

“Dean.” Eileen was wide eyed. “Wings,” she said.

“What?” Dean asked. He straightened up and there was a crash from jars along the shelves behind him. The sensation Dean got back was a dull and weak sort of pain. Like smacking his hand against a frying pan he was trying to extract one from the mess they tended to live in. Dean looked over his shoulder. Two red-brown wings extended from either side of is back. Dean/ locked up an alarm. 

“Sam?” he asked. “What is  _ happening _ ?” Panic rose in deans chest. The wings that the knew didn’t belong to him a shifted involuntarily, flexing and moving to flick away dust motes. Sam was frowning and worry creased his brow. 

“We have to call Cas and Rowena,” he said. “Let’s get you upstairs.” He pushed Dean gently toward the door out of the store room. 

“Wait!” Dean reached down and picked up the feather that had stabbed his finger. “This is what started this.” Eileen gingerly plucked the feather from him. 

“Come on,” she said and carefully dodged around Dean, causing Sam to crash none too gently into him and crush his moose either against Dean’s left wing.  _ Dean’s  _ left wing. That was a weird thing to think. And the damn things were fucking sensitive. Dean yelped and Sam pushed through him as well as he could with Eileen’s shorter from a dragging him along. Dean instinctively tucked his throbbing wing against his side and followed them to the war room. At least the wings would likely mean Cas’s premature return home. Small mercies, Dean told himself, small mercies.

  
  


  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Cas glowered at Dean for some reason. He had returned instantly at Sam’s call and and stared at Dean in a closed off silence ever since. Dean knew Cas was a weirdo at heart, but this was excessive. They’d made up. Dean had said he was sorry and Cas hugged him in a way that sort of meant Dean was forgiven, or at least so Dean had thought. But then Cas had gotten home and instead of coming up with a solution to Dean’s feathery little problem, he’d just glared at Dean’s bare shoulders for a solid twenty minutes. Dean shifted under the intensity.

The bunker’s door creakily swung open to reveal Rowena in an impeccable dress. 

“Didn’t think you needed to use those anymore,” Dean called to her. Rowena arched a manicured eyebrow.

“Dear, simply because I’m the queen of hell doesn’t mean I have no manners,” she replied. Dean felt suitably chastened. 

“Hi, Rowena,” Sam greeted. Eileen, having figured out how to break the spell that tied her to Sam (via true love’s kiss, who knew?), was off on a food slash spell supply run.

“Hello, Samuel,” Rowena said. She strode over to Dean in her pointed high heels and reached out to touch a feather. Cas didn’t say a word but his body tensed so much that the corded muscles in his neck looked like they would burst though his skin from strain. Rowena jerked the feather out of Dean’s skin and Dean cried out in pain. Castiel gave Rowena a look so baleful, Dean swore that she was about to be smote on the spot. 

“That’s an impressive set of wings there, dear,” Rowena remarked. 

“It’s parasitic grace,” Cas growled out, voice rough in a way that  _ did things  _ to Dean. “It’s latched onto his soul and produced wings. Can you get rid of it?”

Rowena looked at Dean appraisingly. “Perhaps,” she said. “Sam, fetch me the grimoire.” Sam darted off without another word. Deans as sure how he knew which grimoire was  _ the  _ grimoire but he was the dude with angel parasite or whatever and he trusted his brother to a fault so he wasn’t complaining. 

Sam returned with an old and musty smelling grimoire. Dean wrinkled his nose at it. 

“Be kinder,” Rowena warned. “Unless you want to be winged forever.”

“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t smell like that,” Dean groused. Rowena merely tsked and rapidly and reverently began to search for the spell. She found it, just in time for Eileen to return home with food and ingredients. Rowena took the lambs blood, the Saint bones and deans feather, and the one that caused this mess all together to chant over. Dean really wasn’t paying attention. His wings were give him too many sensations to be concerned with anything outside of what he was physically feeling. Cas was silent and angry with rigid posture. He was so quiet in fact, that if Dean wasn’t hyper focused of where Cas was located at all times, he wouldn’t have noticed the angel who was skulking on the other side of the table. 

Rowena, who had started in something that sounded a lot like Enochian switched to chant in Latin. The ingredients of the spell glowed and Dean felt tingles race over his body. He closed his eyes against the brightness from the ingredients. Just ask quickly as it started, it stopped. Dean opened his eyes. The wings are still firmly on his back. 

“It didn’t work,” he snarled at Rowena. 

“I never promised it would, dear,” she replied. Cas had visibly calmed. The tension drained from his shoulders and he actually stood up to inspect Dean. Annoyed rose in Dean’s chest. Nice that  _ he  _ was feeling better about this.

“You removed the parasitic grace,” Cas said and he scrutinized Dean. “The wings are a mark on his soul. They’re his now.”

“And if I don’t want wings?” Dean snapped. Cas met Deans eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. The were warms and soft and unworried. They calmed Dean in spite of himself.

“There’s nothing to be done. My grace can be used to hide them for hunting.”

“Okay,  _ one _ , you’re not wasting your grace like that, buddy. And  _ two _ , why can’t we just cut them off?” Dean asked. 

“I’ll use my grace how I please.” Cas’s voice took on a thundery tone. “And we can’t cut them off because we’d risk damaging your soul beyond repair. I’m not willing to take that risk or even allow you to do so.”

“It’s my body, Cas,” Dean argued.

“Cas is right,” Sam said. “The wings stay untied we can get rid of them without hurting you.”

“And what about hunting, huh? Wings are just another thing a monster can grab. And how’m I supposed to sleep? Or shower? Or sit on the toilet?” Dena demanded.

“The same way you always would,” Cas said mildly. “They won’t get in the way of shower or excreting and I’m given to believe you sleep on your stomach largely anyway. In hunts they’ll become an advantage when you learn to fly.”

“ _ Fly? _ ” Dean All but squeaked

“Yes,” Cas said decisively. “Your feathers are nice and you’re wingspan should be about fifteen feet. With practice, they’ll easily be able to carry you.”

“But,” Dean spluttered. 

“Let me see them,” Cas instructed. Dean hesitated. 

“Let him see, dude,” Sam said. He voice was filled with wonder and that ravenous, starving wolf kind of thirst for knowledge. Dean spead his wings and felt each feather mover with him. Cas steppes behinds husk and began to gently touchy the feathers. It was a nice feeling. A little ticklish, but definitely nice. 

“Your wings must be groomed,” Cas said. “They’re very dry and need oil badly. That’ll soothe the discomfort.”

“They aren’t uncomfortable,” Dean said.

“That’s was all angel hatchlings say. They don’t know how wrong this is supposed to feel. You’ll learn Dean. And grooming is pleasant, I promise,” Cas said.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled.

“The primaries came in well. The secondaries are mussed so I can’t quite tell, but I can’t see any bald spots. The tertiaries are fine,” Cas muttered to himself. He ran his hands firmly over the bones at the top. Dean barely suppresses an open moan. It felt like having a massage times ten. 

“Cas,” he said weakly. Cas ignored him. Sam looked both amused and in awe. Without warmning, Cas dug his fingers into the feathers to grope around. Dean yelped. Cas hummed a contented note under his breath. 

“The down is thick and in good shape. Your winds are lovely, Dean.” Cas said.

“I thought you said the needed to be groomed?” Dean shot back just because he was feeling testy. 

“They do,” Cas confirmed with one last firm press of the feathers.

“So?” Dean said. “What’re you waiting for?”

“You feel comfort with me handling your wings?”

Castiel asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

“You’re the only one here who knows how,” Dean said. Cas but his lip. 

“It isn’t rocket science. Grooming is easily learned. Someone else could—”

“No,” Dean interrupted. “No. Sam would nerdgasm all over my feathers. It has to be you Cas. At least for the first time.”

Cas swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Dea watched his closely for anything weird. Cas nodded.

“Let’s go to my room. Grooming requires privacy.”

“Will I fit?” Dean asked 

Cas nodded again, still wide eyed. “Mine do.”

“I want to see,” Sam said decisively. 

“No,” Cas said. “I said privacy and I meant it, Sam. This is between Dean and I. If you were grooming his wings, I wouldn’t watch.”

“What difference does it make?” Sam asked. 

“All the difference,” Cas said. “I’m sorry Sam. You wouldn’t watch your brother get cleaned in the shower and so you wouldn’t stay to watch his wings get groomed.”

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Dean barked. Cas remained unblinking and unapologetic. Sam mimed retching. 

“Jesus, Cas,” he said.

“It’s that intimate among angels,” Cas explained.

“So  _ you  _ would clean me?” Dean joked weakly. Cas looked supremely uncomfortable and red tinged his cheeks.

“You asked me to groom you Dean. You, of course, may always revoke that right.”

“No,” Dean sighed and pushed himself to stand. He tottered unsteadily, overbalanced by the wings. “Let’s do this.” Cas smiled something soft and private. 

“Yes, Dean.” He lead the way to his room. Confused and compelled, Dean followed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Dean trailed after Cas to his room. His wings were over-sensitive and unfamiliar, and he was already rebelling against being stuck with them.

They did, in fact, fit in Cas’s room, despite Dean’s earlier fears. Cas toed off his shoes and knelt in the middle of his rarely-used bed. 

“Come sit.” He gestured for Dean to sit at the edge. Nervously, Dean complied.

“This is weird, Cas,” he said. Cas hummed. 

“It’s intimate, surely,” he replied. He stroked his hands firmly over the bones of bothe Dean’s wings. Dean made a strangled sound of pleasure that he couldn’t keep from bubbling out of his throat.

“Jesus,” Dean bit out.

“I know,” Cas said. He dug his fingers into Dean’s feathers in earnest. It felt like having his hair washed in the best way. If Dean was being honest, the pleasure he felt was less than innocent. His whole body felt like a live wire, ready to crackle to life at the right touch. Cas straightened crooked feathers and smoothed them back into place with practiced fingers. His movements were steady and slow, his hands warm against the sensitive skin and down beneath the feathers. It felt safe, somehow. Dean pressed his wings into the soft touch.

Near the base of the wings Cas tweaked and tugged at little knobs until they did _something_ and Dean thought he could come on the spot from just that feeling. 

“Fuck, Cas, what’re you _doing_?” He demanded as he tried and failed to stifle another groan of pleasure. 

“Those are your oil glands,” Cas said placidly, but Dean swore he heard a delighted note in his voice. He was certain when Cas tweaked the oil gland again. “Keeping your wings oiled is very important and will help your feathers not become brittle and is keeps away astral mites.”

“Astral mites?” Dean squeaked. 

“Since you’re still human, I’m not sure you can get them, but their an angelic parasite,” Cas explained. Dean sure hoped he couldn’t get them. _Gross_. 

“Yuck,” Dean said aloud. Castiel buried warm fingers into Dean’s down. Dean made a quiet sound, unable to control himself. 

“I think you’re nearly done,” Cas combed oily fingers through the feathers and Dean finally understood why Cas had said wing grooming was intimate. Even more than the feeling was the comfort. Dean trusted Cas with his life and there was something to having him groom and touch such a sensitive part of Dean. This was nice. 

“Can I see your wings?” Dean blurted our suddenly.

“Why?” Cas asked.

“‘Cause you groomed my wings,” Dean said. Cas hesitated

“I suppose,” he said. Dean eagerly turned around, knocking over a lamp on the besides table into he process.

“Shit,” he grumbled.

“You’ll get used to the space they take up,” Cas assured him. Cas’s eyes lit up with grace and suddenly, black wings, dark as shadow came unfurling from behind him. They were thickly feathered, and iridescent like an oil spill. Dean was mesmerized.

“Beautiful,” he said because there was nothing else he could have said. They were. Cas’s ears went red. 

“Thank you Dean,” he said.

“Thank _you_ ,” Dean shot back. “You’re the one who got these flappers looking nice.”

“Wing maintenance is important,” Cas said. “How else do you expect to fly?”

“You really think I’ll be able to fly?” Dean asked.

“Of course. With enough training, your wings will serve you the same as mine, though perhaps not as fast.”

“Will you teach me?” Dean asked. Cas smiled a soft sort of private smile that made Dean flush.

“Yes,” he said. Then it got quiet. Awkward. Dean knee he should be staring at Cas’s void black wings but he found himself more interested in Cas’s soft pink lips. He didn’t even know why. He just was. God he wanted To kiss Cas so bad…

“You can if you want,” Cas said.

“What?” Dean chokes out. 

“Kiss me. You can. I groomed your wings. It’s only fair.”

”What’d I say about reading my mind?” Dean asked without heat.

Cas arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t need to. Well?” He pursed his lips petulantly. 

Who was Dean to refuse? It was taking every ounce of him to hold back anyway. He kissed Cas. Cas’s lips were warm and chapped and perfect. Dean melted into him. Cas wrapped his wings around Dean. Little sparks of loveliness flared brightly where Cas’s wings met Dean’s. Dean had wings. Okay, still strange. But Dean was also kissing an angel and somehow that was not.   
  



End file.
